Wednesday, February 19, 2014

I'll see you in my dreams

This is the two week wait where I have been walking around with my hands over my ears, like niblet, screaming "I can't hear you!!!" (For anyone who cares, I am currently 9DPO).

The need for such protective mechanisms began last weekend, at a get-together of friends that should have been calming.  Until a close friend of mine, with whom I have shared my miscarriage history, starting laying in on the questions.  Am I still ttc?  Yes, really?  Shouldn't I be scared of having a baby with grave genetic abnormailites at my age?  (I shit you not, she did say this).  Shouldn't I just quit while I'm ahead given the "stunning beauty and intelligence" of my one living child?  Meh.

Then a few days later, I discovered I have a strange person who has now appeared in two of my dreams.  I swear you guys, she is following me in my sleep.  I can describe her clear as day: blond-going grey, with a long bob, an "aging" woman, pale, kind of rubinesque, about 50-ish, who - fuck if I know why - lurks around in a state of undress.  I mean, guys, she is stark nekkid.  (Note, I am fully clothed in these dreams).  In my first dream she was a receptionist in a doctor's office.  In my second dream (two nights ago), she was the retail clerk or store manager of a baby goods store.  A very strange baby goods store, which had no merchandise, just a book listing merchandise, that operated out of a pop-up truck in my old city neighborhood.

OK, let the dream analyses begin!  Is she the spirit of a post-menopausal woman telling me to stop?  Is she a portent of my own fertility's demise?  Is my subconscious just really fucking weird?

(Mind you, these dreams were a step up from the horrifying doozy I had over the weekend which involved my stumbling upon cult of people who liked to put baby animals in toaster ovens for sport.  Is it any wonder I am so fucking tired all the time?)

I may not be visiting Dr. Google at all hours of the day inquiring about phantom "symptoms" (in fact I feel none), and I am not peeing on sticks every morning, but so much for my ability to not think about my fertility.  At least in sleep.

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